Rebuilding
by beckytiger
Summary: Chapter Seven! A futurefic about love, pain, betrayal, compassion; all them and more. Rated R for sex, blood, violence and other themes. Warning - contains slash.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer - as always, I'm just exercising them for J.K. Rowling. I will profit in no way from this fiction.  
  
This fiction is set about five years after graduation. Voldemort is in control, and the Resistance is underground. But Voldemort's hold on power is tenuous, and peace may be coming with a mysterious plan. Hermione Granger is an assasin with Sirius Black, but occasionally works on new potions with Severus Snape. Ron Weasley is an animagus, he is undercover in Voldemort's stronghold as a falcon. Remus Lupin still tries to recruit werewolves to the resistance, and has a small band together. Harry Potter has been grounded by Dumbledore after a series of near fatal accidents. Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater, but was captured and psychologically torn apart by Hermione. There is a whole back story I haven't finished yet.  
This story will weave all over the place. I expect there will be chapters sprouting up everywhere so don't get sucked into thinking that there's a story line here. If there is something you want explained, just let me know and I'll write about it.  
  
Big Warning - there will be slash ahead. Yep, that's right, two guys or girls sharing an romantic relationship. Being in love. They snog (shudder), they fondle (dismayed gasp), and they probably (though I possibly will not describe it in detail) HAVE SEX with each other (run away screaming in horror). If this isn't your cup of tea, please leave now.   
On the other hand, this fic also includes het relationships. Just like the real world, gay people and straight people coexist and are friends. Well, maybe not the real world, but my world, at least. If you really can't stomach a boy and a girl in love, you may not want to read this fic either.  
Frankly, love is genderless, and sexual attraction is about a person, not their genitals. But, then, I often get called an equal opportunity lech, so you are completely at liberty to disagree.  
  
Sorry about the length of this intro. Please give me feedback, I'll love it and promise to review your stories.  
  
A Letter from Hermione.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
I have a present for you, it will follow this letter. I know what ennui you have suffered since Dumbledore grounded you. I know you miss the adrenaline of action. So, here is something for you to do. I have broken this present, taken it apart thoroughly, destroyed it's very foundations, yet it is in your power to mend it.  
  
Harry, I'm not blind. I know what has driven your reckless intrepidity. I have seen you court death with the face of one without hope. For five years I have seen that look, and known why. At last, I have the chance to alleviate it. It has taken me five years. Five years of pain, hate and torture, as I delve the secrets of the Death Eaters, but I give you him. Draco Malfoy.  
  
In our last year at school I saw you look at him, Harry. Your face never speaks, but your eyes do, if one can read them. I read your eyes, and they said... Love. Despair. Desparation. Compassion. I followed your gaze - and he was looking back. That didn't make sense, if you were looking at each other, why the desperation and despair? Why the bitterness? So I watched him, and saw the true object of his gaze. Us. Ron and me. Not you. I saw him watch us, and then take comfort with you. Yes, I knew about that too. What could I do? We couldn't break our exclusive bond, and, even if we had wanted Draco, we would never have betrayed you. For five years we have watched you seek to ease your pain. For five years we have watched and worried over you. We knew then, and we know now, but now I also know that Draco Malfoy is worth saving. He is a person capable of love and honesty and integrity. I destroyed him. I betrayed his love in exchange for a few secrets. You can save him.  
  
Destroying Draco Malfoy was the hardest session I have ever done, and I am not a timid woman. I have blood on my hands, blood that I have spilled from the veins of Death Eaters, without pity, without compassion, without mercy. I have beaten, tortured, cut and killed. I have done everything a person can do to wring the truth, and find a way to survive. But I could not do that to Draco Malfoy, could not wring the truth from him with physical pain, because I knew he was worthy of love. Your love. So, why did I destroy him at all? Because he held the keys to peace for us all. I don't pretend to have a big philosophical answer to good and evil. My reasons are savagely personal.  
  
We have a boggart here, Sirius and I. Sometimes we use it in our sessions. It can be... fruitful. But only occasionally. We, too, fear what the boggart shows us, and cannot fight it. When the boggart sees me, it becomes a grave, heaped with fresh earth. A simple plaque records the name and dates, that's all. Just one name. I cannot fight it. It's what I most fear - that the one who makes me complete, the one who fills all my empty spaces, the garden in which I find pleasure and comfort; will be taken from me forever. No chance to ever again say 'I'm sorry' or 'I love you' or 'I need you'. No chance ever again to simply lie in his arms and listen to him breathe. To watch him smile.To watch him sleep in my arms, his body still flushed with passion. For him, I would do anything. I have done anything. I have and will dredge the foullest depths of fouller minds in order to safeguard him. All this time, you have dredged those depths. It's time you had the love to make it worthwhile.  
  
Sirius joins me in sending Draco. He worries about you too, as does Remus. They, and Ron and I, have been watching you with love and anxiety all this time. We have found a love that sustains us, that makes us whole. If Draco Malfoy is what you need to be whole, then Draco Malfoy you shall have.  
  
I should add that Sirius and I have the same boggart, with different names on the headstone, obviously. It is one of those weird quirks that makes us such good colleagues. Sometimes, if it surprises us, we just cling to each other. In some ways, having the boggart keeps us sane. It reminds us of what we are fighting for. It reminds us that there is nothing we would not do to thwart that image of death. It reminds us that we love and are loved. It gives us patience, cunning, faith. Our greatest fear spurs us on to ensure that it will never come to pass.I want you, Harry, to remember this image in the days to come. Draco is broken, and you will have to cling tightly to the image of your greatest fear and greatest hope in order to get through. You must see both the mirror and the boggart to ensure you follow the right path.   
  
I know it may seem strange to you, the bond between Sirius and me, but it is deep and resiliant. We trust each other implicitly, we understand each other, we are in accord, mind and spirit. We can read each other's minds. It is a different bond to the one I share with Ron, the bond of lover; different to the one I share with you, the bond of friend; but a bond no less profound nonetheless. This gift comes from us both, with all our love for you attached, to get you through the pain that will follow.  
  
  
So, finally, here is your chance to capture the love that has eluded you for so long. Be patient. I was thorough with him, and he will be delicate. Never give up. Remember, he will grow how you set him, so do not let bitterness twist your training. He will not talk for a long time, but one day you will see your chance. Seize it with both hands and do not let go. Build something strong and worthwhile. Build something tall and proud and beautiful. This is my gift to you; that you may make his death your greatest fear, his life your greatest hope, and his heart your greatest desire, and that he may do the same.  
  
I love you Harry. Use well the days.  
  
Hermione.  



	2. Harry and Draco

  
A Letter from Sirius.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
This letter should arrive at the same time as Draco Malfoy. I know Hermione sent you a letter to arrive just before him. She worries that this may be a shock for you. I agree, but I also agree that this is your chance to build the love you've always wanted. I know that sometimes it is hard and lonely for you - that your best friends are also lovers. It was so for James, before he loved Lily, when Remus and I were lovers. But, because of the loneliness and pain that he had experienced, he was able to build something strong and rich with Lily. I believe it can be so for you too.  
  
I have here a photograph that Hermione took the other day. Remus stopped in unexpectedly to see me, and waited in our office. Hermione, the witch that she is, got her camera ready, and has captured forever the look of delight on my face at seeing Remus. Delight followed by joy, followed by love, followed by a kiss. Such a simple act to sum up the meeting of two souls.  
  
For twelve years I suffered in Azkaban, never daring to remember the joy that Remus and I had shared, but remembering all to well the pain and silence of the time we suspected one another. The memories of love were too precious, too fragile, to expose to the lust of the dementors. Some I managed to keep intact, and they are among my most treasured memories today. The memory of our first kiss, under the stars after the yule ball. The first time we made love, the thousand times we made love, each rare and beautiful. Now, we can be together again, and, though our love must hide in the shadows of the resistance, it is a hidden flame that burns us both. His very presence fills me with peace like nothing else. To win a smile, I would walk through hell. To keep him safe, in the hope of creating a world in which we can love at peace, I walk a path strewn with corpses, lies, deceit and blood. To watch him lying in my arms with passion spent, to feel him whisper his love and desire for me into my skin, for these moments of joy I would do anything. If the trial of rebuilding Draco Malfoy seems too hard, for he is shattered, remember that love can wipe out twelve years of suspicion and betrayal. Love can make anything imaginable. Love can wash the blood of Death Eaters from my hands. Love can do anything.  
  
Be patient and truthful. I have seen with my own eyes what I never would have suspected - that Draco Malfoy is worthy of the love you have to give. Sometimes, it will try even you, the pain of rebuilding. Remember that we are here, that we watch you. That we love you. That we support you. Draco Malfoy is your desire, your fear, the reason you, without hope, go in search of death. You have a chance now to make him your life, your heart, the reason you, with hope, go in search of life.  
  
Hermione is just preparing the transportation. Soon I will consign this letter to the hands of the gods, and may they be merciful. When I took Hermione on as my apprentice, I never expected that we would become so close. That we could come to read each other's minds. But we have. So, when she sends you Draco Malfoy, to make of what you will, I join her.   
  
I love you Harry.  
  
Your godfather, Sirius  
  
  
Harry and Draco.  
  
Draco had been silent for over a month. Since Hermione and Sirius had delivered him into Harry's hands he had not spoken. He did not try to escape - better that the Death Eaters assume him dead at the hands of the Resistance assasins than they discover him alive, having spilled every secret he possessed.  
  
Harry watched him with concern. Draco could feel the gaze on him, and tried to shrink further back into the couch he was sprawled on. Draco was frightened of what Harry might be able to read in his eyes. He was frightened by the tenderness and compassion that Harry showed him, emotions that Draco could not begin to imagine the sources of. Did not want to imagine. Draco was frightened of feeling. But Harry's eyes stayed on Draco.  
  
Harry sighed as he looked at the crumpled form. Every day, he asked himself: 'Why? Why did they give him to me?' He knew the answer, of course. Several times a day he asked himself 'Why? Why do I keep caring for him?' He knew the answer to that, too, and it also was not pleasant. He watched his chance to speak to Draco, to get some response. Today, his patience seemed to have worn very thin. He was desperate to breach the dike of Draco's emotions, to get a response, any response, to prove to himself that Draco was still alive. He moved over to sit on the floor next to Draco, ignoring the way he cringed further back into the cushions. Without thought, he let his hand run over Draco's shoulders, absently rubbing the tense muscles. When was the last time he had touched Draco like this?  
  
Obviously he must have spoken aloud, because he felt Draco stiffen under his hand. Well, that was a response. Harry brought his other hand up and repeated the question.  
  
"When was the last time I touched you like this? As I remember it, we were still at school."   
  
Harry watched Draco's face twist with emotion, savagely supressed, the first he had seen since he arrived. Draco tried to wrench away, but Harry's hands moved to pin him to the couch.  
  
"You've been betrayed, Draco. Do you think I haven't been? Do you think I don't know pain? Do you think I have never loved hopelessly?" Harry drew in a deep breath, still ruthlessly pinning Draco down.  
  
"I have loved hopelessly. Just as you have. Do you know what a gift Hermione gave you? She gave you me. Me to help you rebuild, but I'm sinking here. You want to drown in your betrayal. Have you never betrayed anyone? Have you never betrayed me? You used me, betrayed me, killed my friends and family, and... I'm still here. Still holding you, still giving you comfort... Still trying to save you." Harry's eyes locked with Draco's, and he spoke again, more calmly.  
  
"I remember the last time I touched you like this. In our last year at school. I found you crying and incoherent on the floor in our dormitory. I pulled you onto my bed and took you in my arms. To comfort you. You kissed me. Do you remember that? Your lips were soft and shaking, and salty with tears, and I kissed you back. I murmured comfort into your ear, but you weren't interested in gentleness. You tore your clothes off, and mine. I wanted to be gentle, but you were frantic. Your hands were everywhere, so hot and trembling. You begged me, without words, and I was helpless to resist you. I knew then that it was inevitable, that I would give you whatever you needed. There you were, in my bed, in my arms, and you wanted me. I fucked you there and then, and still you cried. Afterward, you fell asleep in my arms. I wrapped them around you so tightly, held you so close that I might warm you as you slept. Then I, too, slept, but woke alone.   
  
"You acted as though nothing had changed, until I found you crying in my bed a few weeks later. So I comforted you again, and then again, and then again, damn you! I knew you didn't want me, had no idea who you did want; all I knew was your pain and my ability to ease it. So I did. Again and again I gave you everything I had to give, knowing that I wasn't who you wanted. Now do you think I have never felt the pain you feel? Do you think it didn't stab me to the heart that you never even spoke to me? Well, it did. You never even said my name, you bastard. Just one simple fucking word, a crumb for me as I gave everything I had for comfort. It tore me apart, and I was sick with jealousy, wondering who it was that you did want. I know now, and it is such sweet irony. Irony as heavy as your body resting on mine in the aftermath of passion. Irony as sweet as watching you sleep.  
  
"And now, I'm still here, trying to comfort you. Still waiting for you to say my name. I've waited my whole life to hear it, but I cannot wait forever. I survived your leaving once, and, if you go now, I don't know that I will survive it again, but I still want you. After every humiliation, after every stark realisation that you could not, would not, want me, I still want you. Now, when you're broken and lost, I still want you. I still love you. Could you, would you, ever want me, Draco Malfoy?"  
  
Harry stared into the depths of Draco's eyes, ice about to shatter. Harry's own eyes were burning, but slowly the fire died. He turned from Draco, and buried his face in his hands for a moment, then struggled unsteadily to his feet. A soft word stopped him inches before the door to oblivion.  
  
"Harry." He hardly dared believe his ears, but the whisper came again. "Harry." He turned.  
  
Draco was crying, as in all memories, but his arms were outstretched and he was saying Harry's name. Harry jerked him into his arms and buried his face in Draco's hair, suddenly crying himself. Their tears mingled on their skin. Draco shook convulsively, and Harry's hands relearned their familiar patterns of comfort. Draco drew away slightly.  
  
"I don't know who I am." he said. "But I want to live. Help me to live, Harry, please help me to live."   



	3. Severus gets involved.

A Letter from Severus.  
  
Dear Draco,  
  
I have learned, from Hermione, the story of your life over the past few months. It seems that I, perhaps, am the only one in a position to write to you, and I do so, believe me, with compassion. I, too, have suffered agonies similar to yours. The pain of knowing yourself a traitor, but, worse, a traitor to a cause that is itself a betrayal of everything decent and good. A traitor twice over. Not brave, or imaginative, enough to chose the right side in the first place, and then not strong enough to stick with the side you have chosen. That is how some people have seen me, and , I fear, still see me.  
  
When I was a young man I, like you, was a Death Eater. Not a very good one when it came to actual torture and destruction, but a damn good one when it came to plotting and planning. My position in the heirachy was uncertain - Voldemort appreciates bloodlust amongst his followers, as I'm sure you're aware. Voldemort often referred to me as his Virgin Strategist, with just enough of a sneer to humiliate my cowardice, but not enough to prick my conscience. A two-fold virgin, precious and rare, so he said. I had no idea what he planned to do about my sexual virginity. I imagine that I never would have seen the error of my ways had it not been for Voldemort's desire to initiate me into the ways of blood.   
  
You know that on winter solstice the Death Eaters always enact the ritual death of the Holly King by the Ivy King. Always at the same time, and in the same place, always the same ritual. It's only known to the Inner Circle, though. Even Death Eaters have some standards, and this ritual can take some stomaching. The ritual, I believe, is part of the basis of Voldemort's bargain with Death. As the Holly King, he can die symbolically, strangled by the leafy tendrils that transfigure the young man chosen as the Ivy King.. Well, not many people know of the corresponding ritual held on midsummer. Only Voldemort and the young men who play the Ivy King, assuming that any, aside from me, survived. But I learnt of it. Voldemort asked me to be the Ivy King. There is no way you can refuse an invitation. So I accepted. Midwinter went off well, so I thought. Voldemort took his customary trip to the realm of the dead, to check that all is well with the torment of the souls he has sent there, I expect, and came back. At midsummer he told me I would have to participate in the other half. My symbolic death.  
  
I have never told this to anyone save Albus Dumbledore, and even he does not know the full truth, but I think you need to know everything, so that you can continue to rebuild. On midsummer's eve, we went to the circle. I was transfigured: I was lush with curling strands of ivy, soft, tender, delicate, and in my prime. Voldemort's eyes shone as he looked at me. Only the two of us were there, although I believe one other knew the place in case there was an emergency. There was no emergency. Just Voldemort and me, under the stars. I was terrified. I had no idea what was going to happen. He walked toward me, and I was rooted to the spot - literally, a side effect of the transfiguration.   
  
There is no easy way I can tell what happened next. Voldemort devoured me. If midwinter was how he checked in with Death, midsummer was how he recharged on life. My life. He tore me apart, my transfigured leaves were ripped from my body, leaving me exposed and naked. He drank in the blood that flowed from my wounds. He raped me, making me bleed, more blood he eagerly swallowed. It continued all night, the torment, my pleading screams, his horrible, horrible laughter. In my dreams I can still see his hands yellowish on my skin, the shape of his fingers on my arms, his laughter low and delighted in my ears. The smell of blood and fear and pulsating life still fills my nostrils. Then he whispered in my ear: "My Vigin Strategist, you were the best I ever had, you have filled me with more power than anyone else has ever done. All the work I do this year will be thanks to you, and I will give you power in repayment for what I have taken." Then he was gone, and I lay on the ground, wanting to die, but powerless too. I knew that I, and I alone, would be responsible for his evil acts that year, and it was my duty to avert them any way I could. Only that would be repayment for what was taken from me. Ironic, that I must be both the victim of thievery, and the perpetrator who atones that thievery. Life abounds in ironies of this kind, as soon as you betray the Dark Mark that is itself a betrayal.  
  
So, I was once as you are now, a broken, rootless creature, with no foundations and nothing to live for but, in my case, atonement. Dumbledore gave me what he could, but I have still set twisted, like a badly broken leg on an unfortunate beggar. For years, all I craved was Death. But now, I see that in living lies the answer.   
  
You are more fortunate than I, Draco, and yet less fortunate. More fortunate because you have someone who will help you heal. Less fortunate, because you cannot hate the ones who brought you to betrayal, because they did it with love. Or, perhaps, this is also fortunate. When you can remember your breaking with compassion, when you can love your breakers as the souls they are, then you will truly be healed, and that is something I doubt I shall ever have.  
  
So, do not turn away from Harry, Draco. He will stand beside you, the stick that you can grow straight against. He will take your rage, your pain, your anger and despair. Do not hold them inside where they will fester and rot. Do not end up a bitter potions brewer. This is my gift to you, a story of double betrayal that could have led to light and peace. That it did not is partly my own fault. I pushed away those who would have helped me. My wish, my hope, is that you, Draco, do not make the same mistake. Walk toward the light.  
  
I hope we can meet again, when this is over, and we can talk of things that only a double traitor can talk of. I would dearly love to be free, Draco. I want you to be free too.  
  
Yours, with love and hope,  
  
Severus.  
  
  
Draco Speaks.  
  
I never wanted to feel anything again. I was safe, in my little cocoon of silence and denial. Now the emotions flood from me like water from dam that's given way. I fear I will crush everything in my path. But there is nothing in my path. I have no past, no future, no self. I have only what I can rebuild.  
  
There are many things I need to say, to do, to scream out to the world, but I cannot. Harry is my only link with the world, and I do not want to corrode him with my venom. I know he watches me, encouraging me to speak. Everyday I, at least once, lose it, and let go. Bile spills from me. Every ugly emotion I have ever experienced rushes from my mouth. And he sits there and takes it. Then, when I am spent and weeping, he comforts me. I am so ashamed, to pour out my hurt, my pain, my betrayal, on someone else. So most of it gets bottled.   
  
But today, I have broken the bottle. Quite literally. A bottle of soy sauce that flooded in inky swirls over the counter as I smashed the end, and dripped quietly onto the floor. I look at the Dark Mark on my arm. Severus Snape was right. I am a traitor twice. I have already been marked once, it seems only fitting that I be marked again.  
  
I can almost feel the same as when I was initiated as a Death Eater. Voldemort puts two curses on you - the Imperious Curse and the Cruciatus Curse. This is a foretaste of what will happen if you ever betray your vows - humiliation, pain and death. I have betrayed my vows, and I can feel humiliation and pain without the assistance of any curse. Compared to this pain, the clean cut of glass and sting of blood should be a good feeling. An innocent feeling.  
  
I raise the bottle, fascinated by the texture of the glass against my finger. In initiation, you use an iron brand, hard, heavy, and as black as the life. of a Death Eater Is this glass a symbol of the new me? Is there a new me? Could there be a new Draco Malfoy? Can I be as smooth and clear as this glass? I know, now, that I can be as easily shattered. I think of Hermione, and those weeks in the cell. She never once physically hurt me, and that stings me more than this glass will when it slices my skin. She loved me, and I gave into her love, the thing I had always wanted. Then she tore it away, ripped down every last brick that made me and left me a pile of rubble.   
  
And Harry. I would be dead if it wasn't for Harry. His compassion and love are infinite, gods know why, and I have to force myself not to climb into his lap and never move. Force myself not to soak up that compassion and love. He deserves better than me. Better than a weak, double traitor, who has no sense of life or death. Only limbo.  
  
The glass touches my skin, and a small trail of red rises. I decide on the classic cross, the one used on Death Eaters that betray the cause. I have seen it done. I position the bottle, and cut, slowly and precisely. Blood flows like a river from my arm, and I make the other cut. Deeply. I have been touched. I lean back on the counter, and watch the blood drain from my arm.  
  
Then he is there. A shocked cry, strong hands forcing my arm up, soft fingers pressing down on the wound. I look at him, and am amazed by the emotion in his eyes. Why have I never seen it before? I have seen his eyes speak, but never, never, like this. Has the loss of blood cleared some of the film of death from my eyes?  
  
I don't know how he got me to the couch, how he got the bleeding stopped, but, when he raises his wand to heal it without a scar, I stop him. So much has leaked from me with the blood that I am weak.   
  
"No. I want a scar." he shakes his head, but my fingers are wrapped round his wrist. He looks at me.  
  
"Why, Draco?"  
  
"I am a traitor, and this is the mark of the traitor. I will never turn back, but I need this to stand as a memorial of what I was and what I have paid." He hesitates, and I continue to talk.  
  
"Harry, I do not want to die. Not any more. More things bled out of me onto the kitchen floor than blood." I see he does not understand.  
  
"Harry, I have almost nothing. When I rebuild myself, I want it to be with the knowledge that this scar is what I am. That this is something I do have. Something I can be certain of. I have severed my links with the past." Talking is painful, and I know I am not making much sense. Then Harry shocks me.  
  
He lifts my arm to his mouth and kisses the wound. He kisses the Dark Mark. His eyes burn into mine as his lips move over my skin. I try to pull away, but he will not let me. He kisses... he kisses the very mark that has caused pain and anguish for his friends, his family, the mark that caused his parent's death. Still he watches me, and I see emotion blazing from his eyes. I cannot identify all of them. My breathing is shallow. When his lips lift from my skin, I feel lost, but he does not let go of me entirely.  
  
"Draco, you are worthy of life, and love, and light. I cannot hate this Mark." I gasp at his words, they are so intense, a feral growl.  
  
"This mark is beautiful, because you are beautiful." I try to turn away, but he captures my chin with his free hand and turns it back.  
  
"You are rebuilding yourself. Well, right at the bottom, in the foundations, should be a huge fucking stone that says 'Draco Malfoy is worthy of love'. And right next to it should be one that says 'It does not matter that he was once a Death Eater, because that Draco Malfoy is gone'."  
  
He kisses my mark again, and his lips are so warm. Like everything about him. He can heat even me, in the extremes of my despair. I start to cry, and his lips continue to press my flesh.  
  
"Harry... Harry.. you have no idea what gifts you give me." I whisper. "In my foundations will be a stone, a huge stone, marked 'Harry Potter'."  
  
Now his eyes fill with tears, and they splash onto my arm. They burn, but I struggle up to press my face against his, our tears sliding down our cheeks and onto my arm. They burn hotter, but it is the good flame of cleansing.  
  
Exhausted, I sink back down onto the couch. Sleep has begun to claim me. I will never again hold back from Harry. I feel his arms around me as I drift away. I feel the pain recede as his warm body presses against mine. I sleep, the sleep of the peaceful.  
---  
  
Not too melodramatic, I hope. I have no idea what was going through Severus's head when he wrote this, and I have some doubts about his motives. He has changed, and I hope we'll find out why as the story progresses. More about that next chapter.  
Many thanks to all those who reviewed, and I hope you keep reading. Especial thanks to:  
Rhyssen for her constructive criticism: you're right, Harry's monologue is a bit long, but Draco just wouldn't talk back, damn him. SilverWolf - do you not think that Ron and Hermione are cool? They're straight. Quidditch - thanks for your words, it never occured to me that people might have friends and relations who were not so frank with them as mine are with me. Sorry if you feel icky. kewl_lovebug - you put me in your fav stories! I only hope the rest of the story measures up. And sorry about the f-words, but people look at you strange if you say 'make love' where I come from, and I don't think Harry and Draco did make love in the sense of it being a tender emotional experience for either of them. Keep reading, things will just get weirder.  



	4. more Draco

A Letter from Draco.   
  
Dear Severus,  
  
It feels very strange to put quill to parchment and shape these simple words. I realise that I don't know who you are, but, at the same time, I know you in ways that others can't begin to even imagine..  
  
I am so uncertain about these next words. Hell, I'm uncertain about any words. Whenever I try to say something it blurs before my eyes, fading and blinking, and meshing into strange ungainly shapes of ruined fortresses. Maybe, if I can just get through this one letter, then maybe I can get through one conversation with Harry that doesn't end with me in tears.   
  
I am terrified, Severus. Terrified in a way that maybe only you can comprehend. Each and every step I take in learning to be a new person is a step out into darkness. Harry is there, at my hand, but sometimes... Sometimes I just want to push him away and scream at him and curl myself up into a self-reliant, dead little ball of flesh and nerve, and never feel those searching green eyes on me again. And then I am terrified that maybe I will snap one day, and pour out all my loathing for the compassion he shows me, compassion that I know I am not worthy of, but that's still the only thing holding me on this plane. I want to pull him close and never let go, and I want to push him away and never see him again. I am terrified.  
  
Severus, can I ask you to do this for me? To read the outpourings of my soul? I have no one else. Well, that is not true. In fact, it is my defense mechanisms rebuilding, and I am so terrified that I will shut Harry out, yet equally terrified of letting him in. What would happen if he saw all this hate and pain and darkness and turned from me? Can I risk that? Can I not risk it? What can I do? I am lost.  
  
I am lost. I take the steps blindly, but I see no light at the end of my long tunnel. I have only the rubble of my life to rebuild from, and how can I rearrange the bricks to be something brave and loyal and just and ambitous, when I have only before known one of these qualities?   
  
I paused for a long time after those last words. I must sift the rubble of my life, and find the truth. This takes time, and I am so impatient. Besides, Harry looks at me with concern if I stare out the window for too long. He worries about me. He cares about me, and I don't know what to do. I am worried, frightened, deathly scared, of winding my life around Harry Potter. What if I choke him?  
  
There. That thought. I have never felt that before. I have always experienced my emotions, my feelings, running like waves through my body to be controlled and bottled and willed back, like a sucessful Cnut at the seashore, but I have never before felt someone else's emotions. Or even considered them. As you say in your letter, it takes imagination to feel compassion. To choose the right thing.  
  
For the first time in my life, I have imagination. I can look at the world not just as a place of surfaces and things to know, but as a place of infathomables. It occurs to me that maybe there are things I cannot know. Things I can only guess at. Things I can only imagine. And with imagination, who knows what will come?  
  
In fact, one thing has come already, and that is dreaming. I have nightmares, Severus. I guess that you must have had them too, maybe you still have them now. Muggles say that your dreams represent things that your unconscious mind is processing. Harry's got me writing a dream journal. It scares me. So many things scare me. When I see the dream in the smoothness of my hand I give it new shape. When I can talk about them, the shapes lose their lurid relief, and fade into a tired shadow of tone and line. But some dreams I cannot share with Harry. Some dreams are too much tied up with my own desperate ambivalence toward him, a subject that I do not want to discuss, am too frightened to discuss. In my dreams I see myself as Harry. We are one person, with hair like the cold ashes in my hearth and eyes like sea foam. Inside us we war, me striving to mesh, him striving to break free from me. I worry that I identify with Harry too much. I worry that if I push him away one more time he will never come back. I worry that if I let him too close he will sicken on my bleak despair and leave me. I worry that I want him. I worry that I might tell him. I worry that I will always remain here, without shape or form. I worry that Harry will not like the form I take. I worry...  
  
I am too confused to go on. Please, please, read this. I will send it off immediately, before I can let fear turn me back once more.  
  
Yours, Draco.  
  
A Visit From Severus.   
  
The little cottage is just as I remember it from when I was grounded here so many years ago, in the fall of Voldemort, when I was desolate with anguish that I had not yet atoned all the blood on my hands.I remember how empty it is inside - the less things for people to smash. It has always been so.  
  
Some Muggles believe that hauntings are caused by stones, especially quartz, retaining the impression of an emotional scene. Someone who is sensitive to the vibration can then experience the scene again. It's a nice thought, assuming that you haven't actually met a deranged ghost intent on reenacting some dreadful scene with relish. But this house... I wonder what kind of vibration this house hides in it's stone walls? This house has seen so much.  
  
Draco's letter stunned me. I had been ambivalent about writing in the first place, and then, when all the horror and dirt and guilt and anguish flowed off my quill and onto the parchment... Well, I very nearly didn't send it. But I did. I don't know why; it's not like Draco needs more images of pain and fear and anguish and betrayal to contemplate. But I cannot give someone hope and light. I can only hold up a mirror of consequence - what happens when you push people away and don't set straight. You end up a bitter man, with poison still in your veins after so many years. You end up still scrubbing your skin raw in the shower to rid yourself of the afterimage of yellow hands clutching you like the earth of a grave. You end up pushing everything away. I am still so lost and alone. But Draco needs me. Maybe my mirror can help him.  
  
Working on the potions with Hermione has been good for me, I think. She has such boundless compassion, such fierce faith in the underlying good in everyone, coupled with the fervent belief that, should you be proved not to have this underlying good, then you deserve to die in a horrible fashion. She is Joan of Arc - a woman of God, who slaughters with pietistic zeal in a worldly cause. A woman who transcends boundaries and limitations and commits terrible acts in her search for justice. And acts of grace, too. Her eyes see everything. She believes I am a good man. She wore me down; insisting that, since we must work together, our relationship must, necessarily, reach a level of intimacy and trust. She calls me Severus, without any inflection of scorn or contempt. She's even got Sirius Black calling me by my name, gods know how.  
  
So, when she found me reading Draco's letter, she was about as subtle as a brick. "You'll go and see them, then, Severus." she said, in a tone that was obviously not a question. "I'll write a letter for you to give to Harry." Well, I somehow found the letter in my hand and my feet on the worn, sandy path to an isolated cottage.  
  
Draco is so fragile. Harry is so protective. I can see it in his stance, his eyes, everything. I can see Draco's painful ambivalance, and see the reason for it. Harry is so strong, it would be so easy to just drape over him and never think again. It says much for Draco Malfoy that he has not done so. I hand the letter to Harry, get rid of him with some difficulty, and sit next to the fire with Draco.  
  
"Yes." I say. He looks confused. I clarify: "Yes, you can write to me, and I will read it, and I will help you in every way I can." I make the promise, with truth in my heart. It seems to tumble from my lips unbidden. His eyes search mine.  
  
"Good." he breathes. "Just knowing that someone who has been through this is willing to listen..." I frown. I don't want to replace Harry in any way. Suddenly, I see it.  
  
"Draco, do not underestimate how much Harry needs you." He is shocked, it has never occured to him that Harry might need him. I continue: "He needs you, so much. He needs you with an intensity I have never seen before. He needs you to heal and grow, and stand beside him, so that he will then not need you, and you will not need him, and you can be held together by loving desire for each other rather than the dull throb of responsibility and need." Draco shakes his head with disbelief.  
  
"Harry doesn't need me." he says, very quietly. "I need him, and I am so frightened of that."  
  
"Harry does need you, Draco." I sigh. Words have never been my forte. Perhaps I should just force feed them both some veritasium and exit quickly. Then, I remember Hermione and Sirius's letters. I did not read them, but I have some shrewd suspicions as to their contents. "Has Harry shown you the letters that Hermione and Sirius wrote when they sent you here?" His eyes cloud with confusion. Obviously not. "Ask him." I wave him from the room, and settle by the fire. On second thoughts, maybe I should leave. This encounter may prove to be something best unwitnessed by an outsider. I stop to write a note on some parchment and leave it on the table.  
  
Dear Draco,  
  
Anytime you wish to write to me, you are welcome. Anything you wish to write about, I will read. I will give you the ear you need for things that you cannot - yet - talk to Harry about. Do not shut him out. Recognise that he is as vulnerable and aching as you are, and that you have a gift to offer him as precious as what he offers you.   
  
I will listen to you and support you through your need. But, one day, you will not need me either, and on that day we can be held together by friendship. Just friendship, one of the most beautiful, sacred, and elusive of bonds.  
  
Yours, Severus.  
  
I turn and walk away, my mind still humming with thoughts of friendship and need.   



	5. ambivalence and vulnerability

A Letter From Hermione.   
  
Dear Harry,  
  
I can just about see your face in front of me as I write this. The peculiar blend of hurt and puzzlement - what is Severus Snape doing here? Well, he is there because Draco needs him. And before you start feeling hurt and angry, because you should be all that he needs, think about it.  
  
You are Draco's world at the moment. His only point of contact without himself is you. Naturally he has feelings for you that he can't express to you. There will be so many things churning in him that he just will be too frightened to lay on you, and I don't think you should push for total disclosure at this point.   
  
Severus- well, Severus is an astounding man. This will shock you, but I like him. I admire him. He has never told me what horrible secret drives him; though I know there is one, I can see it at work in him everyday. He is an eastern ascetic, so mortifyingly aware of his past karma that he spends this lifetime in emotional poverty, desperate for atonement and absolution through servitude. He works alone because he has done such wrong that he cannot, will not, share it with someone else. He needs to be needed, he needs to give help to someone. Draco needs some help that he cannot ask from you. It is the perfect solution, and has, I hope, the neat effect of solving two problems at once. Severus will finally tell his secret to someone, if he hasn't already, and Draco will be able to get a clearer view of you. With that clearer view will come the perspective to not get trapped into blind need. Aha, you never thought of that, did you? That maybe he would come to need you rather than love you? You need him, too, but I hope that you can both grow out of that and find a balance where love is in magnificent abundance over need, and you are together because you choose to be.  
  
I cannot write more, Severus will change his mind and not go if I delay any longer. Watch out for another letter soon.   
  
I love you, Harry.  
  
Hermione.  
  
  
Draco and Harry.   
  
Harry is still reading his letter from Hermione when I walk into the room, a slightly stunned look on his face. He turns to me, and I see the faintest glimmer of - what is that? Indecision? Uncertainty? I have never seen those emotions in him before, but maybe I have never looked.  
  
"Severus said I should ask you to show me the letters from Hermione and Sirius." I say, very quietly, as if hoping he will not hear me. But he does, and lifts his eyes to my face almost hesitantly.  
  
"Alright." he agrees. After a quick rummage through some drawers he hands me the parchment, still so very quiet and uncertain. I quickly read the letters; they are so heartbreakingly honest, I can feel tears in my eyes, but I hold them back. My heart is thumping painfully in my chest. Maybe he does need me. Maybe Severus is right. Maybe I am not the only one who is uncertain and in pain.  
  
"Is what they write here true?" I ask, even more quietly than before. But still he hears me, and his eyes are shadowed as he lifts them to my face.  
  
"Yes." he takes a ragged breath, and continues: "Yes, it's true, all of it; that I need you and want you and can't exist without you. I thought I could be strong, and help you heal and let you lean on me, but underneath, I need you." His face is so defeated, as if, through this admission, he has put all the things he wants and needs above his grasp. As if he has put me above his grasp. As if I will turn and walk away from him now that I know that he is as vulnerable to me as I am to him.  
  
I walk over and wrap my arms around him tightly, and just hold on. He needs me too. He is as hurt and lost as I am. He stiffens in my embrace, and I whisper gently into his ear:  
  
"Thank you, Harry, for needing me. I didn't want to be weak, I didn't want to lean on your strength. But now we can lean on each other. We can grow together, Harry." He relaxes slightly, and his arms go round me to return the hug. "Let yourself be vulnerable to me, and I will be vulnerable to you. No secrets, no hiding." He nods his head, and lets his face burrow into my shoulder. I bury my face in his neck, and we stand there for a long time, letting our hearts commune.  
  
I know now that we can walk forward together. Harry is my strength, he gives me courage to take that next step. I can do the same for him, now that he will let me.  
  
----  
Ok, what is going on with Severus? I have no idea, he never tells me anything. I am quite ambivalent about this section, so all feedback is welcome. Thanks again for reviews. I must make my summary sexier so more people will read this. Again, anything you want explained, just let me know. I will get around to telling you what Hermione did to Draco soon. 


	6. draco dreams

Disclaimer as for other chapters. I'm sick of Draco's suffering, so this is the last chapter in which he will be the focus. Thank god.  
  
Flashback - What Hermione did to Draco.  
  
  
I dreamt of Hermione last night.   
  
I dreamt of her touch on my throat, the first warning I had that things were not right. I could almost smell the flowers and fresh cut grass that surrounded the ministry car as I stepped out of it. In my dream I saw the shapeless bundle beside the door resolve itself into a cloaked assasin, who smiled at me with such vermilion lips. In my dream, I was rooted to the ground as she advanced on me, I cowered back against the car, the symbol of my master's supremacy, and it was weak and shaking against my back. She stood in front of me, her lips still curved into that smile that promised such a little death, such an eagerly awaited death. Such a death that I would pant and moan for. Then her lips were on my throat, in that tender spot where the right touch causes oblivion. I fell, and fell, and kept falling....  
  
I dreamt of Hermione last night.  
  
I dreamt of her voice in my ear as I awoke in the cell, smooth with silken control, rich with secrets, drifting like woodsmoke over my slowly awakening nerve endings. In this dream she wears her mask, the mask of the assasin, so all I can see is her mouth, still so sinfully red, still reminding me, somehow, of blood and wine, and its so, so, painfully apt as I feel the stretch on my arms outstretched, torn on a cross of chain and leather. I can only hear her whisper, her soft low whisper... and my mind breaks under the words, under her tone, so gentle and warm: 'You look pretty good for a dead man.'  
  
I dreamt of Hermione last night.  
  
I dreamt of her hand on my arm, on the soft, tender flesh of my inner elbow. Her hand is hard, not like her soft, sweet voice. Her hand has calluses from the blade. Her hand has scars from the blade. Her hand has the memory of death from the blade, and I can feel it sinking into my skin. All the blood she has spilt sinks into my skin, and in the dream I can see it running through me, over me, I can see it streaking my skin, I can see it trickling from the corner of her mouth in a seductive ribbon. She extends her tongue to lick it away, and her tongue is a blade. I turn my face away, but the screen is on the other side, and I can see the images of my body washed with blood there too. I close my eyes, but she croons in my ear, her voice as shiny and clean as the knife, her mouth as soft and wanton as the blood. I twist and turn under her hands, as far as the restraints will let me, but she will not let me go, her hands hard on my body still slick with blood, and I tilt my head back onto her shoulder and listen to that voice, let it cleave me from my safe haven of denial, let it slice me how it wants to, let it dig into my brain... And I see my brain laid bare in front of me, with Hermione sliding through it with delicate abandon, her fingers so skilled and so slick with blood, her tongue such shiny steel as it laps against my mind, disecting it with such care. She looks in my eyes as she digs through my disembodied brain with her fingers and her tongue, and I see such greed there. She whispers endearments around the whorls of grey, and I hear the last one quiver on her tongue: 'You taste so good.'  
  
I dreamt of Hermione last night.  
  
I dreamt of the last time I saw her, the time she broke me, the time I wept and screamed and begged and broke and rushed out all the secrets I had in a pleading little heap. In the dream I watch from outside myself and flush with shame that I couldn't even break properly, couldn't even give up the dignity of silence with my pride intact. I shake and sob, and she watches me with unfathomable eyes, her cloak of black standing tall and proud and untouched by my pleas. This time, this one time, she does not speak, just looks at me. She just looks at me. I watch from outside myself as she lets me spill everything I know, everything I think, everything I damn well dream, and I see her mouth, that amoral, scarlet mouth, that mouth that promised such carnal delights, I see it smile with secrets at another defloration.   
  
When will I be able to look at Hermione without seeing that mouth?  



	7. ron and hermione

A Letter from Ron.   
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Today I am at Sirius and Hermione's work, the first time I have seen them for six weeks or so. I am kept busy at the castle - the life of the spy is never easy, even when the spy is an animagus. But I managed to get away today, and for a truly pleasant reason too. You know that Voldie has been tiring of Wormtail. In fact, he has always been amused by the antipathy shown by me, his attack falcon, toward the miserable creature, and long ago promised that I would have the honour of tearing him to pieces. In fact, the promise was made at a dinner where Wormtail just got too obnoxious, and I pulled half his hair out and tore his arms quite badly before being calmed down. The honour finally came, but somehow I stopped myself from killing him there and then, and brought him here instead. Much to Sirius's delight, naturally. Sirius bundled him off to a cell immediately, rubbing his hands with glee at the chance to finally commit that murder.  
  
I can't tell you how amazing it was to see Hermione again. First I felt my eyes light up, then my face, then she was in my arms, and I'm not quite sure of what happened for several minutes, but I'm certain that some of it involved kissing and some of it a stupid grin. Sirius took some photographs, in revenge, so he says, for ones she took of him and Remus. Even Severus looked mildly pleased to see me - he and Hermione have just perfected a new kind of potion that gives cover against the unforgiveable curses, and they were testing it amongst themselves. They wanted me to try some, but I'm worried it might interfere with the animagus shield potion: the last thing I need is to accidentally transform into Ron when they do one of their routine animagus sweeps at Voldie's HQ. While on the subject, I think that working with Hermione has been good for Severus. He even spoke quite pleasantly to Sirius, much to my astonishment.  
  
Hermione told me that Draco is now mending, and that he is becoming a beautiful human being, and I am happy for you. You finally have the chance to love openly and freely. That is both the most liberating thing and the most inhibiting thing in the world. My love for Hermione is liberating. When I am with her I know I am loved, absolutely. And I love her, so deeply I cannot express it with mere words. The photograph tells it all. Ask Sirius to show you it when it's printed. It's all there in our eyes as we speak to each other without words. With Hermione, I can do anything, be anything, say anything, want anything, and it's ok.   
  
But our love is also inhibiting. Everyday, I fear for her. I am terrified that she will die, and I will lose my other half. So much of us is twined together that, if she died, I think large portions of me would be ripped out by their roots and wither. I take every chance to be with her. Imagine the regret if I did not make the effort to make every moment together precious. So, today, when I saw her, I threw caution to the winds and kissed her like there was no tomorrow. Severus was a bit embarassed, and pushed us into the office, but I don't care about privacy anymore. I don't care who knows what she does for me. I don't care who hears me shout out my love for her, who sees me cry in her hair as she holds me, who knows the depth of the bond between us. I want to tell it to the whole world.  
  
When this is finally over (which I hope will be soon - from what Hermione told me; they've perfected the new charm, too, and the information I gave them today about HQ should be enough for them to plan the attack) Hermione and I are going to get married. We will both shout our love for each other from the rooftops. Literally: we're planning on using voice magnification and saying our vows from on top of a tall building somewhere. We haven't worked out all the kinks yet (do we want to work out all our kinks? No, we're quite fond of some of them). I hope that you and Draco can join us on that day, and stand beside us with all the others who have found love or kept love alive under the shadow. Of course, some of those closest to us will not be there - Neville will not have Percy by his side, Seamus will not have Dean, Minerva will not have Hagrid, Cho will not have Katie, Ernie will not have Hannah. I don't know how they cope with such pain. I'm not certain I could withstand it. But if you are there, whole, happy and with a foolish grin of your own, it will make the day as close to perfect as it could get.  
  
Harry, my best friend, I wish for you the incandescence of love. Love that will light you from the inside out. Love that will illuminate all your hopes and wishes in glorious starlight. I hope Draco can give you that love. If not, I may just have to try my hand at turning him into a ferret. That will learn him.   
  
I love you, Harry.  
  
Ron.  
  
  
A Letter from Sirius.   
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Please read Ron's letter first. We are sending it with this.These are the hardest lines I have ever had to write. I don't know how to pass on this news.   
  
Just after Ron had finished writing the letter, I burst back into the room where Hermione and Ron were cuddling and whispering, and Severus was mildly glaring. I'd found a tracking device on Wormtail, and expected that Voldemort would waste no time in following us. We swung into action - all necessary stuff has an automatic relocation charm on it as soon as the self-destruct is enabled, so we just had to gather our personal belongings. The Death Eaters arrived just as we finished, and burst into the room, showering us with curses. Fortunately, we had just perfected the anti-unforgiveable potion - but Ron hadn't taken any, and was hit by a stray avada curse. I can't say it more gently - he died instantly.  
  
I'm not sure what happened next. I know that Severus got hit by a particularly nasty gravity curse, and it took me a while to get it off him. Hermione was a blur. She was throwing curses - manic, wild, venomous curses, at the Death Eaters, and I saw them going down. In her other hand she had her throwing stars. I have never seen her use them against a living target before, but she did today. Not one Death Eater was left alive when she finished, between curses and deftly thrown stars. She could scarely stand - she had been hit by about a dozen avada and cruciatus curses, and the potion isn't that strong. She flung herself onto Ron's body. I thought she would die too, but Severus and I managed to get her, Ron, and the bundles of stuff we needed out of there before activating the self destruct. Let that burning hulk in squalid inner London be the funeral pyre of evil.  
  
We came straight to Hogwarts. Ron will be buried here the day after tomorrow. I'm so sorry I can't come to tell you this in person, but I can't leave Hermione. One of Remus, Severus or I are with her constantly. She blames herself - that she didn't make Ron take some of the potion. She is incoherent and nearly insane with grief and guilt. She is slowly calming. So, so slowly.  
  
Please come tomorrow. I know it is unfair to ask you this, when Draco is still so sensitive, but please. We need you. Be prepared, as much as you can, for what you will encounter. I know I have been brutal in my telling, but the truth is brutal in this case. Excuse my tears on the parchment.  
Please come, Harry.  
  
Your godfather, Sirius.  
  
  
Draco speaks.  
  
A letter is always a bright spot in our lives. Months of isolation have had their effect. Harry always lets me read the highly personal letters his friends send, even the ones about me. After a while, I let him read the ones from Severus. We have no secrets, and it feels good. I feel content here, and yet... I want more, but am too afraid to push for it. I want Harry, but am too frightened of my fragility, of his fragility, to ask for him. Could either of us stand it if something went wrong?  
  
He reads the letter from Ron first, laughing out loud over his friend's unquenchable spirits. Who else would call the Dark Lord 'Voldie'? Well, actually, Harry has told me that they all often call him 'Voldie-pants' in jest. I don't know that I ever can though, but at least I don't cringe at the name anymore.  
  
He passes me Ron's letter, and starts to read the one from Sirius. He stops reading suddenly, and turns white. He bites his lip until the blood runs. I touch his shoulder. It is cold and stiff. I put my arms around him.  
  
"What? What is it, Harry?"  
  
"Ron." he says. That is all, and he reads, the tears starting to leak from his eyes. I look over his shoulder, and I turn cold - phrases like 'Death Eaters showering curses' and 'hit by a stray avada curse' jump out at me, and I have no need to read more, and no time either as I save the parchment from the twin fates of being torn to shreds and being drowned in tears.   
  
Harry seems not to notice my presence. He tears himself from my arms and starts to smash things. There is not much to smash - in case I got violent when I first arrived, I guess. I try to take him in my arms, but he pushes me away. He is still raging, tears streaming down his face, fists clenched. At last, he collapses, and I see my chance. I wrap my body around him, and hold him tight. He just melts into me, sobbing, shaking, in my arms. This is a pain I have never been through, that I cannot imagine. I have never had a friend like Ron was to Harry.  
  
I hold on, whispering ridiculous words of comfort into his ears, stroking his back, his shoulders, his hair. I know he cannot hear my words, only my tone, soft and soothing. He is suddenly so small and defenseless, and I feel possesive protectiveness flood through me. No one, no one, will ever get the chance to hurt Harry like this again. I, myself, will hunt them down and kill them, each and every one. Except, the Death Eaters who did this are already dead, at the hands of Hermione.   
  
Gods, Hermione. If I think I am intimate with pain....  
  
Harry's breathing is coming from him in shuddering gasps, but his tears have slowed. I do not loosen my arms from him. I will never let Harry go. He is mine.  
  
I carry him, unresisting, up the stairs. It's a good thing he is as small as me. I lay him down on his bed, and curl around him. He turns into my body, seeking warmth and comfort. I hold him close. This is all I will do, just hold him close. He is too helpless now for me to even think about my crass desires.   
  
Harry kisses me. I open my eyes to see his eyes, damp with tears, looking into mine.   
  
"Draco." he whispers, "Draco, kiss me." Then his lips are on mine again, hot and pleading. I kiss him so, so gently, then lift my head away.  
  
"Harry, I don't think we should..." He stares up at me.  
  
"Why not, Draco? I want you. I need you. I love you." he whimpers in pain. "Please, Draco, please."  
  
"Harry, I can't take advantage of you. You're hurt, you're upset..." But I can't stop my fingers from tracing his lips.  
  
"Draco, life is short. My best friend died today. Do you think we should turn away from what we can give each other? His voice is very small. "I would regret it forever if we didn't do this and you were killed tomorrow."   
  
I cannot resist him, and I recognise the truth in his words. Gently, I pull off his glasses, smooth back his hair, remove his watch. I undress him, watching his eyes. They shine with tears, and I kiss away the few that escape. He is so beautiful, painfully so, as his hurt shows through. I force my hands to move slowly over his body, unbuttoning his shirt with careful fingers before smoothing the sides back and sliding the sleeves off his arms.I kneel in front of him to remove his socks and trousers, then, hoping my control will not shatter, his underwear too. His body is perfect, lean and agile. He is beautiful. I undress too, and our bodies touch for the first time in five years. But this feels different. The pain and rage are gone, and all that is left is love. This time it is my body that offers comfort. I want to make this last forever.  
  
My hands and lips are light and soothing on his body. He arches up into them, he pleads with me, he is heated and fluid underneath me. I learn that to wring a moan of pleasure from his lips is the most intoxicating wine. Soon, I am drunk on the tastes of his body, drunk on his heady cries of pleasure. I want to make this good enough for him that he will think of nothing but me. I want him to burn with simple passion, a flame that can drive away the shadows. He is mine, and I am his, and I will do whatever it takes. I kiss him everywhere, slow, hot, fevered kisses. My tongue traces his veins, my teeth drag over his skin, my hands, gods, I'm shaking, try desperately to be gentle. I tamp down my desire, the better to concentrate on his shivering, needing body. I want this to be so good that images and feelings of death and destruction will be pushed aside by my love. I want him to fall asleep immediately afterward, safe in my arms, and not wake up until the morning. No nightmares, no guilt, no grief, no pain.  
  
For at least a short time.   
  
I must suceed.  
  
---  
Right, well, all feedback welcome, as always. The next few chapters will deal with Hermione and Sirius, who I hope I will be able to capture better than Draco. 


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